


light the match

by lastwingedthing



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/pseuds/lastwingedthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray manhandles Brad and ties him to a chair. It's a good thing Brad's into that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	light the match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schlicky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlicky/gifts).



> Tra la la porn, it's all I'm good for in this fandom. 
> 
> For Jen, because you deserve it, bb. ♥

Ray’s on the sofa when Brad gets home, boots resting on the coffee table, watching some shitty action movie with the sound turned up too high. He ignores it when Brad slams the door closed, just takes another long pull from the bottle in his hand.

Brad just sighs, digs his fingers into his temples. He needs a fucking beer of his own. It’s been a long day.

He kicks off his boots and walks into the kitchen. He’s focused entirely on the prospect of relaxing, situational awareness gone completely to shit.

The noise from the TV covers Ray’s approach. He doesn’t notice a fucking thing until Ray’s slammed him up against the wall.

Fighting back is automatic. It’s a mindless reaction, born out of years of training. There’s no need to think. He just moves, lightning fast and just the way he’s been taught.

It doesn’t do him the slightest bit of good. Ray’s smaller and weaker and he has the advantage; has surprise on his side and knows Brad’s tells and his moves. Brad could keep struggling for a hell of a lot longer, but as Ray digs his fingers even tighter into Brad’s wrists, he realises that this fight isn’t one he can win.

It isn’t one he _wants_ to win.

Adrenaline has Brad’s blood racing, heart pounding double-time in his chest. His cheek is pressed hard against the wall, arms twisted up behind his back. Ray’s body is close and tight against his own.

He feels it down to the soles of his feet when Ray leans in to whisper in Brad’s ear, his breath hot against Brad’s skin. He can imagine it perfectly, Ray up in his toes in those fucking boots, every muscle in his arms and back corded with the strain.

“No point fighting me, Brad, you know I’ve got you,” Ray says, low and husky. “Jesus, you’re so fucking hot like this.”

Brad’s already shivering when Ray leans forward a fraction of an inch more to trail his tongue, delicately, along the curve of his ear. When Brad gasps he pulls back; Brad can almost _hear_ him smirking.

The hairs are standing up on the back of Brad’s neck.

“Gonna cuff you now, baby,” Ray says. “You ready?”

Something dark and hot twists in Brad’s belly at the endearment. There’s no gentleness in Ray’s voice, only mockery.

“Have I got a choice?”

Brad can practically _hear_ Ray’s smirk, wicked, delighted.

“Nope.”

There’s a word in the back of Brad’s mind, but he isn’t going to – doesn’t _want_ to – say it. Instead he smiles, up against the wall where Ray can’t see.

“Go ahead,” he says carefully, his voice as cold and controlled as he can make it. “I’ll try not to fall asleep.”

Ray laughs.

The cuffs are metal, cold and hard as they snap closed. Brad tugs once just to test them, just to feel the strain. He’s going to walk out of this house tomorrow with aching muscles and secret bruises wrapped around his wrists.

Ray yanks his head around, kisses him open-mouthed and hungry.

“So fucking hot,” he whispers, pulling back. “Come here.” His hand wraps around the back of Brad’s skull, tugging him inexorably forward.

Here is the chair in the corner: heavy, steel-framed, sturdy enough for anything. They’ve tested this before.

Two more restraints are waiting, one each beside each of the front legs.

Ray shoves him down into the chair, hard. Brad’s panting now. His erection is throbbing between his legs.

Brad leans back, closes his eyes. Ray’s hands are hot and eager on his skin, stroking teasingly as he guides Brad into place. He unbuttons Brad’s shirt, yanks it open. For once his impatience hasn’t ended in torn fabric and flying buttons. Brad still can’t breathe.

After a moment Ray tugs him upwards again. He tugs Brad’s arms up, positioning him carefully, and for a moment Brad can’t figure it out.

Then Ray tugs him down again, and he realises that Ray has moved him so that his hands will be cuffed _behind_ the back of the chair. One more level of immobilisation.

“Gotcha, baby,” Ray says, grinning triumphantly down at him. At the look on his face Brad can’t help but fight it, tensing and struggling just for a moment, just until he gets himself back under control.

Ray grins wider. He leans down to slide a hand up Brad’s thigh; Brad wants to moan at the steady intimate pressure, but he swallows it down. Then Ray pulls away.

“C’mon, Brad, spread ‘em for me,” Ray says. He drops to his knees. Brad stifles his moan, and obeys.

Ray does everything carefully, thoroughly: cuffing Brad’s right ankle to the chair. Leaning in between Brad’s legs, rubbing his face there, breathing in. Unbuttoning and unzipping, sliding clothes down until they’re in a tangle around Brad’s foot and Brad is naked below the waist.

Brad kicks a little when Ray goes to cuff his other leg, helplessly. He can’t control this. Not Ray, not what’s happening to him, not his own body. Ray keeps brushing against Brad’s erect swollen cock, shoulder and cheek and clavicle. Even the whisper-soft stirring of the air against him is a torment.

And then it’s done. He’s naked, immobilised. Out of his control, and into Ray’s.

Ray smiles and takes a step back, taking Brad in.

“Yeah,” he says again, low and satisfied. “Fuck _yeah_.” His hand trails slowly up Brad’s thigh. “So pretty, sweet thang,” he croons mockingly, and Brad rattles his restraints and snarls in answer. Ray grins.

He drops his head to Brad’s neck and _bites_ him there, tonguing his skin wetly, lewdly. Brad can feel the mark being sucked into his skin. It makes him shiver and tremble all over.

“Fuck you,” he mutters, tightly.

Ray pulls away and grins, face inches away from Brad’s.

“Nope. Not today, that’s not what’s gonna happen here.”

He leans forward, kisses Brad quickly on the mouth. And then he licks his lips, a quick pink flick of his tongue, and Brad can’t take his eyes away.

“Think I’ll suck your pretty cock instead, homes, swallow you down so deep you scream. I’m not gonna let you come unless you beg.”

Brad jerks as the words hit him, lust pooling in his belly.

“You’ll be waiting for a long time, Ray,” Brad says, trying to keep his voice under control. “Unless you’ve finally learned what patience is sometime in the past half-hour, you crack-addled little hick.”

Ray laughs at him, taunting and cruel.

“Who said I was gonna do the waiting? That’s gonna be all you, Bradley.”

He catches Brad’s eyes and drops his hands to his own belt, getting his jeans open. Brad tries to swallow, can’t. Somehow his mouth is bone dry.

Ray reaches up to pull his own shirt over his head. _Jesus_ , Brad can barely stand to look at him like this, that lean tattooed body pulled into a long taut stretch in front of him. Ray drops the shirt and meets Brad’s eyes, smiling. He reaches up with one hand, rubs at one pebbled nipple. Brad wants to put his mouth there so badly it hurts.

“Ray,” he says, the word somehow escaping him, coming out low and commanding. “Goddammit, _Ray_ …”

Ray raises an eyebrow. “No,” he says, and drops to his knees.

Brad tenses, waiting for the wet warm brush of Ray’s lips or tongue against his cock. It doesn’t come. Instead Ray’s mouth moves over his belly, the tender skin of his inner thighs, trailing kisses and stinging bites. Brad stays rigid, frozen, trying to bear it in silence, but the tease goes on and on.

_Goddammit, Ray_ , Brad thinks desperately, but he keeps it in. _Please…_

Ray just keeps moving over him at the same irregular maddening pace, far too slowly to be anything but the worst kind of tease. His hand comes up to grip Brad’s thigh, pushing Brad’s knees apart even wider, digging into the muscle with broad calloused fingers. And then as he looks up at Brad his tongue comes out, licking feather-light at the precome beading on the head of Brad’s cock. Finally Brad gasps.

Ray smiles, eyes lowered, and parts his lips around the head of Brad’s cock.

Brad’s breath catches on another gasp, helpless, soundless. Ray’s fucking _mouth_ … Ray’s so good at this, he can take Brad so deep. He’s working Brad steadily, spit and swirling tongue, and it feels so good Brad can barely breathe. He can’t move much, but every time Ray bobs downward Brad thrusts up into it, as far as he can.

Brad’s been so hard, for so long. Ray’s working him slowly but steadily, rhythmically. It doesn’t take long before he’s approaching the edge, the steady pleasure of it spiking outwards throughout his body.

Ray stops, of course. Pulls off, pulls back, goes back to that light careful teasing, until at last Brad’s calmed down, pulled back from the edge of coming.

Brad’s eyes are squeezed closed, jaw clamped closed from the effort of not begging. His hands are fists behind his back, clenched so tight his nails are digging into the skin. He’s panting, sweat-slick, desperate for air –

Ray looks up at him, and smiles. And does it all again.

By the third time Ray pulls back Brad is shaking all over, a trembling he can’t control, and even Ray is sweaty and flushed, panting between Brad’s legs.

“Had enough yet, baby?” he says, grinning up at Brad. His mouth is red, lips swollen and dark with blood, and his voice sounds husky and used. “Gonna beg?”

Brad looks down at him, knowing already that his voice will come out ragged and even rawer than Ray’s.

“No,” he says, flat and hoarse and barely managing to get the words out. He wants, so badly, just to give in – but he won’t, _can’t_. Not yet.

Ray smiles, a slanting wicked grin. “Suit yourself, homes.” Slowly he stands.

At first Brad can’t figure him out, dazed and stupid with lust and frustration. But then Ray takes a step forward and pushes Brad’s legs together again, as close as they’ll go. He sits down, straddling Brad’s lap, and spits into his right hand; drops it down to grip his own cock. And then Brad understands.

Ray never did have any patience.

Ray jerks himself off steadily, firm even strokes. Brad recognises the rhythm, the steady twist Ray uses when he wants to get himself off.

With every stroke his knuckles just barely brush against the head of Brad’s cock.

Brad can’t – he can’t _stand_ this, Ray so close and just barely, barely touching him. Ray’s weight on his lap is so familiar, hot, sweat-slick; his eyes are closed now, head tilted back in pleasure. Brad can’t quite see what he’s doing to his cock, but he can _feel_ it; feel the motion of it rocking them both, feel the way Ray’s breath is coming out in ragged gasps between them.

Brad watches a drop of sweat run down Ray’s throat.

He _can’t_ –

His own breath sobbing in his throat, Brad lets his head fall forward, burying his face against the soft hot skin of Ray’s neck. He can’t – oh, like this he can _taste_ Ray, the familiar salt of his skin.

“Please,” he whispers, soundlessly, against Ray’s skin.

Ray gasps just once, above him, but then he pulls away.

“ _Fuck_ , Brad,” he moans, and even in his desperation Brad wants to smile. But then Ray’s moving back, standing up, and Brad wants to sob in frustration. Now Ray’s not touching him at all.

“No,” Ray says, and Brad can hear the smile in his voice, along with the arousal. “Can’t follow a simple order, Colbert? That wasn’t in the rules.”

Brad wants to sob, or swear, or scream, but instead he’s silent, words trapped in his throat. So far gone he can’t even speak.

Ray looks at him, taking him, all of his desperation in. He smiles.

It’s faster, this time, as Ray jerks off. Ray’s not touching Brad, but now Brad can see him, all of him, and he doesn’t know where to look.

There’s Ray’s hand, moving roughly over his red stiff cock. His fingers and the head of his cock are wet with precome, glistening; Brad can just barely hear the noise Ray’s making with them, wet and obscene.

But if Brad looks there he can’t see Ray’s face. Can’t see his swollen lips, barely parted, or the flush spreading across his cheeks.

Ray’s eyes are open, staring directly at Brad.

“Look at me,” he says roughly, that fucking smile still on his face. “I know you like it, Brad. Don’t you fucking dare stop looking at me.”

And as soon as he says it Brad wants to close his eyes, turn away. He’s so far past simple arousal. So close to the limit of what he can bear. To see Ray like this, to watch Ray watching him, watch Ray _getting off_ on watching him…

Brad wants so badly to look away, but Ray told him not to. And so Brad won’t.

When Ray comes it’s fierce enough to make him stagger and shake with it, face twisting up with pleasure and relief. But it’s Brad who cries out, desperate, breaking, as Ray spills in hot spurts across Brad’s stomach. _On_ Brad, marking him…

Like a dam bursting, all at once, Brad can speak, can _beg_. He sobs with it, _please_ and _Ray_ and _need you so much_.

“Please,” he says, lost in what he’s feeling, in what Ray is making him feel. “ _Please_.”

Ray leans down, kisses Brad whisper-soft across the mouth. “Okay,” he murmurs, cupping Brad’s cheek. “Okay, baby. I got you.”

Brad’s still pleading, hoarsely, as Ray gets back on his knees. Everything he’s been holding back for so long, since Ray first sucked him, bound him, pinned him to the wall. Everything spills out of his mouth.

He comes fast, almost as soon as Ray gets his mouth around him. Comes sobbing, comes on a scream that sounds like Ray’s name.

Afterwards he comes back to himself slowly, still trembling with aftershocks. He can feel Ray uncuffing him carefully, letting his arms hang free, but even the relief as that discomfort ends feels distant and far away.

Ray leans in and kisses his mouth, slow and sweet. “How you feeling,” he asks Brad softly, rubbing at Brad’s hands.

Brad groans, letting his eyes fall open. “I feel like if you keep on hovering, you needy little inbred, I’ll break your fucking face,” he says, clear and precise. In front of him Ray grins.

“Can you walk? Or have I actually broken the Iceman this time?” Ray sounds far too smug for his own good.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brad scoffs, and falls over.

Ray catches him on the way down, though, hands steady and firm on Brad’s shoulders.

“Uh-huh,” Ray says, smiling almost fondly.

Brad’s look dares him to comment further, but Ray just leans in and kisses him, soft and sweet on the mouth.

After a moment, Brad kisses him back.


End file.
